


Five Point Plan

by Mary_Jane221B



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Baking, Elevators, Laundry, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-06-05 13:02:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6705466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mary_Jane221B/pseuds/Mary_Jane221B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames has a five point plan</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Two Types

There are two schools of thought when it comes to organising a plan for the seduction of your flighty co-worker. 

One is stringent. It involves meticulous notes in leather bound moleskins, detailed observations of the patterns and behaviours exhibited by said co worker. These could range from the way they shake their short hair when running into a warehouse from the rainy exterior, perhaps mentioning the way they steal the last few drags of your cigarette or the final mouthful of your favourite scotch. If you are the type of person to meticulously plan a seduciton you learn the specific attributes and attitudes you find most attractive as well as those that drive you to distraction.

Only once your research is complete do you make a move. Only when your plan is fool proof do you finally set it into effect.

But that's not the way Eames works. Eames makes notes on whatever is closest and as such his plan for the seduction of Arthur has been plotted out on post it notes, paper coffee cups, the back of receipts and his own hand. It's true that these notes are occasionally hard to decipher once Eames returns to them but he's managed to break the ideas down into five categories, five ideas, to seduce his Arthur. To seduce him not just into Eames bed but to allow Eames to slither into Arthur's heart and life, to allow him a position of dominance in his head and heart. Eames wants to conquer Arthur and declare him his love before God and the world.

Eames is determined.

Eames has a plan. 

It has five points and starts like this...


	2. Point One: Green Post It Notes

"I've got it!" Eames declares while thrusting a clutched handful of luminous green post-its under Mal's nose. The woman raises an eyebrow and a single finger at the overly enthusiastic English man and continues to study the delicate italic script of the Parisian cafe's menu. 

Eames falls,inelegantly, into the woven metal chair opposite and commences bouncing his knee as he reads through the notations gracing each scrap of paper. 

"Your patience Mr Eames leaves a great deal to be desired." Mal says from behind her menu as she turns a page and tries to select a blend of tea that won't induce the she-devil child she is carrying in her womb into dancing on her bladder for the rest of the morning. 

"Well Mallory I have come to a very important epiphany. I am anxious to share." Eames drawls in response and fails to lessen the incessant giddy bouncing of his leg. 

"If you do not cease your obnoxious leg movement Eames I shall be forced to detach said limb from your body and we wouldn't want that would we?" Mal says snapping her menu closed and holding her hand out for the post its that Eames readily surrenders with a boyish grin Mal can't help but return. 

"What in the world have you been up to my crazy British boy" she asks while scanning each scrap for a hint. 

"What, pray tell, do you intend to accomplish with such a collection of ideas my love?" Mal asks having reached the last note.

Eames leans his elbows on the table and wears the crooked smile that always shows his age so clearly. It is the smile of a youthful man full of energy and dreams far too large to be contained in his head. "I am going to seduce Arthur." 

Mal throws her head back and laughs freely. What a delicious idea. 

She flicks through the notes again and holds her selection out to him between two fingers. 

"Do your best Eames" She says with a smile.

*******

Eames slaps the palm of his hand against the mirror covering the elevator wall and grunts. His labored breathing mists the finger print smothered surface as his grunts become intermingled with broken moans. 

Arthur releases his other arm from where he had it pinned against Eames side and moves his hands to Eames hips where he digs in his fingers hard enough to bruise. 

"Fuck Arthur." Eames manages to pant out as the point man slams his cock into him hitting his prostate with such precision that Eames feels his knees begin to buckle. Sensing it Arthur wraps an arms around Eames front and forces him to stand more compleatly and brace himself properly against the bar in front of him. 

Looking up as Arthur positions him Eames catches a glimpse of Arthur's sly grin and braces himself for whatever the man will do next. Arthur slows his rhythm pulling the cheeks of Eames ass apart so Eames hole is exposed entirely to his smart phone's camera. Arthur pulls his hips back so Eames hole is stretched against the widest point of his dick. It's so tight Eames is close to begging him to stop, to smother him in kisses, to whisper sweet nothings in his ear and hold him close. Arthur catches his eye in the mirror and throws the phone to the ground. The snap of glass and plastic against marble makes Eames jump as does the sharp feeling of Arthur's canines against the flesh of his shoulder. 

"Stay with me Mr Eames." Arthur whispers into the skin of his neck as he swivels his hips and starts up a slower and more deliberate rhythm of push and pull. Eames watches as paler, more elegant, hands than his own run over the ink covering his chest. The swift pain as Arthur twists his nipples has him reaching for his dick where it bobs uncontrolled and ignored against his belly. Arthur grins at him in the mirror and nods.   
  
Eames sighs as he takes himself in hand countering the vicious pounding of Arthur behind him with a smoother and softer hold on his own flesh. He won't need much. 

The elevator dings as they reach Arthur's floor but neither of them stop. The doors open and in the mirror Eames can see an audience of projections watch as Arthur slips a finger in beside his cock and pushes Eames over the edge. His come paints his fist and the mirror in front of him as he keens at Arthur who simply smiles and continues to fill Eames hole. 

"Arthur please." Eames says, he hears Arthur suck in a deep breath and feels a stutter in his regulated beat. He giggles breathlessly and presses his forehead to between Eames shoulder blades as he comes.  
  
They stand together Arthur refusing to pull out and Eames reluctant to ask him to. The elevator doors begin to slid close behind them as Arthur pulls himself up and smiles at Eames in the mirror his eyes glittering with mirth. 

"Do you think we gave Dom's projections enough of a show Eames." 

***

They come awake facing each other.

Arthur smiles across at Eames and Eames breath catches as his heart throbs. He wants to wake up every day to that smile. 

***

It doesn't last, the smiles don't continue, within two weeks they're all running from Paris. 

Mal loses her shit with their chemist, throwing bottles of the man's compound to the ground where each bottle shatters dramatically. They've been sold out. 

Arthur doesn't come for Eames like he hoped. He follows Dom and Mal without a backward glance. 

Eames goes back to Mombasa alone and contemplating his next plan. He places the green post-it which says 'Seduce Arthur in an elevator. The man loves physics' between the pages of his mystery novel and tips his head back against the cheap fabric of the plane seats and tries to sleep. 


	3. Here Comes the Sun

Arthur recognises how he has fallen madly in love with Eames four months into their relationship. He wakes up at on the second Sunday of March at seven am to a bedroom filled with hazy sunlight filtered through thin cotton curtains and a deserted bed. He stretches his hand across the white expanse and feels lingering warmth from where Eames body had been sprawled the night before when Arthur came home to find the man passed out, reading glasses he had spent eight weeks trying to hide from Arthur perched on the end of his nose, and with Arthur’s own German translation of ‘Effi Briest’ lain across his chest.

Arthur had done his best not to disturb him while peeling off the many layers of his suit but once he knelt on the bed and crawled under the covers alongside Eames his attempts were nullified by Eames half grin and sleepy, yet demanding, kisses. They curled together under Arthur’s spring sheets and traded no words but plentiful kisses and skimming touches. They fell asleep intertwined and smiling, Arthur pressing his face into the worn material of Eames t-shirt and revelling in the knowledge that he could wake up tomorrow and Eames would be there, in his apartment, with an easy smile and lyrical words.

But the knowledge of this security was not what made Arthur finally acknowledge his love for the other man. Said realisation occurred after padding down the hallway and witnessing Eames, dressed only in his navy check boxers, dancing around his kitchen spatula and mixing bowl in hand humming to a song that existed within around his own head. Arthur stood and stared at the spectacle of the most deadly man he knew do a variation of the twist while humming along to the Beatles. 

Eames executes a spin on the balls of his feet, catching Arthur’s stunned expression and with an easy grin he crooks his finger towards Arthur beckoning him onto his own personal early morning dance floor. Arthur goes easily enough, happy to wrap his arms around Eames neck and be led in a gentle sway. Eames is happy every part of his radiating contentment and Arthur thinks that if he could keep this; keep the easy smiles and jaunty Beatles numbers, if someone could promise him that this would be his and Eames relationship forever he would sign up this instant. Drop out of Dreamsharing and drag his lover to some far flung edge of Europe or America and hide away forever just the two of them wrapped in this version of them forever.

The oven beeping breaks the quiet intensity of the moment, Arthur having lost himself in Eames eyes and the knowledge he can so easily imagine a future of the two of them tucked away from all the drama and bloodshed of Dreamsharing. Eames pulls him along to the counter while he checks on whatever the creation he is making this morning which smells like summer berries mixed with Christmas spices.

Arthur takes down two mugs and fixes some coffee so at least he can begin his panic spiral while properly caffeinated. He trades Eames mug for a surprisingly sensual kiss and then accepts a proffered finger covered in the icing mixture Eames has made to cover the breakfast rolls he’s setting up to cool on a wire rack that Arthur wasn’t aware he owned. The flavour of grapefruit and orange dance across his pallet and Arthur closes his eyes and sucks vivaciously on Eames finger until the man moans quietly and Arthur can grin in triumph.

“What are you making?” Arthur asks as he searches through the fridge for something seemingly healthy that he can pair with ridiculously decadent breakfast pastries so he doesn’t come away feeling too irresponsible.

“Something new!” Eames says excitedly as he pokes and prods one of the rolls before picking up half the pastries and returning them to the oven. “It’s going to be like a cross between a pain aux raisins and a cinnamon roll. I’m putting some apricots and a confusing amount of fig jam in to baffle you as well.”

Arthur learnt about a month ago that generally Eames flights of baking fancy would result in delicious with the occasional blip of the inedible products so although the combination sounds like an American breakfast pastry got lost in Paris and ended up shacking up with a Frenchie called Pierre Arthur keeps his mouth shut and hums in what he hopes is an appreciative tone.

“I thought I smelt berries?” Arthur asks and leans over Eames to pinch an apricot from the bowl and manages to dance away from Eames when he aims for Arthur’s bum with his spatula.

“I am also making a berry compote but that’s for something else. Non-breakfast and a surprise.”

“A surprise?”

“Yep.”

“No hints?”

“Nope.”

“How about any non-one word answers?”

Eames grins “Maybe.”

“You’re terrible.”Arthur calls out as he wanders down toward the bathroom and hopefully warm shower

“And you love it.” Eames shouts out after him and Arthur stumbles, his foot caught on an imaginary obstacle, managing to splash scalding coffee down his chest. Arthur curses under his breath and swats at the spill with his bare hand managing to spread the pain rather than stop it.

“Kitten, you alright?”Eames calls and Arthur turns to check that Eames is still facing the oven and tipping measured ingredients into a pan so his humiliation is diminished.

“Yeah” Arthur answers trying to stop his breath from catching and succeeding only in making himself sound high pitched enough to be a cartoon character.

He tries to picture what Eames would do if Arthur simply said ‘yes I love it and I love you’.

***

Eames smiles down at thick vibrantly red liquid he is stirring when he hears Arthur’s muffled cursing and recommences his rendition of The Beatles ‘Here Comes the Sun’ while finishing off the raspberry compote for Arthur’s favourite Lemon shortcake.  He leans over tp check the recipe and tucks his bookmark, a thin scrap of orange card he’d taken on the packaging for a cereal box during their last job, more securely into the crease of the page.

On the card Eames has scrawled ‘Plan 2: prove your domesticity, a man loves that security’ Eames adds an extra jaunty note to the transition for the final verse before plating  up a couple of the breakfast buns and the extra frosting that he has very impure plans for thanks to Arthur’s improvised finger  fellatio moments ago.  


	4. Cotton

Eames is excellent at any number of things. Truly he is the master of his work, a king amongst the serf when matters relating to combat or tactics come into play. He is a keen manipulator and wordsmith. Eames is an artist of many mediums; paint, clay, the human body. Eames, he will attest most viciously is a very accomplished man.

But he can not do laundry.

He does not have a single clue past the clothes go into a machine and then spin around. He assumes it’s not his responsibility to add water and that the pipes leading to the machines produce it but he wouldn’t honestly be surprised if he was supposed to fill up a bucket with some soapy water and dump it in there before the machine did its thing. Eames is in no way a simpleton, he has three degree’s, one of which is a master’s and if he had any interest in learning to use the damned machine he would manage to do it in less than an hour and then he would be the laundry master as well.

But Eames has no interest in learning, he’s happy doing what he has always done. He collects enough laundry to fill his two washing sacks and then takes it down the road from his flat in the East End of London to the local launderette and Mrs Murphy handles it. It’s a system that works well AND he’s supporting the local economy so really, if anything, more people should just stop doing laundry. That’s what he tries to tell Arthur anyway.

For some reason Arthur disagrees with him.

***

“You are not seriously telling me that you’ve never done laundry?” Arthur asks open mouthed over a cup of Darjeeling Eames had brewed perfectly and was now growing increasingly annoyed as Arthur ignored his tea in favour of gaping at Eames like he’s a new zoo exhibit. “Never?” Arthur qualifies when Eames shakes his head and turns back to the New York Times Society pages.

Arthur stares at him blankly for a few moments before slamming his mug down and striding down the hall to his and Eames bedroom, his bare feet slapping down the annoyed beat of a bear woken too early from its hibernation. Eames really should have remembered to turn off the alarm this morning.

When the cursing starts Eames thinks little of it, swiping Arthur’s dedicated crossword pen to circle necessary information on his latest target. Eames is heading to Holland in three days to forge a prominent politician who recently visited the States and caused some scandal in the process.  The call had come in two days ago and Eames had been deep in research mode ever since.

Eames looks up again two minutes later; coffee cup against his lip and listens to the sounds of Arthur losing a battle with some inanimate object. When there’s a sharp thump and a very vehement exclamation of “fuck” Eames takes the short apartment corridor at a jog and comes face to face with Arthur sprawled on his floor feet tangled up in the blankets off their mostly stripped bed. 

Eames stands over him, grinning obnoxiously at Arthur where he lies with an arm thrown over his eyes.

“You alright Darling? Any concussion? Should I ask you to count my fingers?” Eames asks and he sees Arthur repress a smile so feels safe in commencing ‘Operation Free Arthur’. He manages to get him mostly turned out of the impromptu cocoon before Arthur starts shoving all the sheets into a heap in the middle of their room. Eames watches amused and ever passes over the vaguely folded sheet when Arthur brandishes an arm out for it expectantly.

Arthur strides off, sheets trailing dangerously behind him and yells at Eames to follow him or prepare for consequences. Given that Eames had learnt very early that said consequences generally consisted of his having to sleep on the couch for a week, he trots after Arthur’s swaying arse with quick prayer of thanks for the gods at Calvin Klein for creating boxers that framed his boyfriend’s generous bum in such a tantalising manner.

“So where’s the fire Kitten?” Eames asks as he follows through a door he always assumed led to a closet. Instead it’s a small space, almost the same square footage as Arthur’s office next door. It’s got a deep farmhouse style sink and two large machines that Eames is assuming are a washer and dryer.

He’s vaguely amused that Arthur’s so fixated on this one small facet of Eames. It’s only laundry after all. What does it matter who does it? But Arthur is there raving on about proper responsibility and self sufficiency which always makes Eames grin his special just for Arthur smiles. They’re a patented Eamesian technique for the seduction of Arthur’s as are the small biting kisses Eames sidles up behind Arthur and commences delivering to his neck.

Arthur tilts his head but doesn’t stop sorting through the pile of sheets or narrating his actions to Eames. He tosses the bed sheet into the sink and instructs Eames in how much stain remover to apply to the sticky patches from the night before. He mutter’s something under his breath about never allowing jam on toast into bed again but they’re both smiling so Eames is confident that won’t be joining the small but firm list of rules Arthur had laid out once it became obvious Eames would be staying around more often than not. 

They work in easy silence and Arthur pulls Eames over to explain the loading of the machine and when you were supposed to add the liquid detergent. Eames listens, vaguely, and loses himself in the warm cotton smell of Arthur in weekend mode. No work, no obligations, no Cobb or Mal to distract him from Eames or the steady domesticity they have fallen into recently.

"I love you Darling." Eames says softly, he murmurs it into Arthur's shoulder blades and then kisses the sentiment up his neck and nibbles it behind his ear. 

Arthur freezes. Arthur doesn't say anything. His breathing changes and his hands start to tremble. 

Eames steps back rejection stinging sharply behind his eye lids. 

"Sorry," Eames whispers. He steps quickly out of the room and turns blindly to his left, walking into a side table in the process, and stumbles towards the living room. What the fuck was he thinking, saying it like that, he was supposed to be seducing Arthur into forever. He was supposed to use his wit and intelligence to convince The Point Man that there would be no better partner for him than Eames. Not sentiment. You did not win a logical, brilliant man like Arthur with sentiment alone. He was so happy that was the thing, he has let himself become too happy. 

Eames isn't expecting to be forced up against a wall. He isn't expecting Arthur to try and climb him like a tree. He pulls him close on instinct and accepts the tear soaked kisses that Arthur rains upon him. 

"You don't say that and walk away Eames. Never ever do that. You don't get to walk away." Arthur says between kisses. "Say it again." He begs and Eames obliges. 

"I love you Darling." 


End file.
